


Forward Manoeuvre

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [10]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 05:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: If this is what crushes are like — like, real crushes, not staring at the back of the head of a guy in his math class he’s never exchanged a word with or making sure he’s seen every movie and TV show Sebastian Stan has ever been in — Jared does not want one. No thank you.





	Forward Manoeuvre

Jared has made a terrible mistake.

Somehow, when he ran his mouth, even when he was standing in line with Marcus to get tickets, another line at the concession stand to get popcorn — Marcus has the right priorities, at least as far as knowing that another movie obviously requires another bag of popcorn — he forgot that sitting through the last movie had been _agony_. Why did Jared willingly subject himself to sitting in the dark beside Bryce Marcus for two more hours? And not only subject himself, but actually _ask_ for it? 

And now here he is, full of more popcorn that disappeared before they got ten minutes into the movie, Marcus’ arm pressed against his from shoulder to wrist, because he’s an idiot.

Jared probably shouldn’t have let Marcus buy him a Diet Coke, because he’s not usually a caffeine past early afternoon kind of guy, and his brain is fucking whirring right now. Like, there is no way this is accidental, right? People don’t just press their arms against yours for hours straight without _meaning_ something by it.

Of course, that could just mean ‘I don’t care about personal space’, and Jared, who _does_ care about personal space — except in this instance…or, hey, even in this instance, because here he is, caring _a lot_ — is misinterpreting it at something more.

Jared shifts his arm away slightly, just enough to put a millimetre between them. It’s frankly insane how hard it is to do, and he’s waiting with his heart in his throat to see if Marcus moves to press their arms together again or suddenly realise that he’s totally invading Jared’s personal space — not that Jared minds (or he does, but in exactly the wrong way) but it’s not like Marcus knows that — and that it’s pretty non-bros and takes his arm away entirely, and —

Jared nudges his arm back against Marcus’ before he can find out the result of his experiment. He is weak, and Marcus is hot. It’s not his fault.

Marcus laughs at something, and Jared startles. Like, right. Movie. They’re watching a movie. Or, Marcus is at least. It’s a good thing Jared’s already seen it, because he’s not paying attention at all.

Two hours — or more than that, Marvel does not know how to make a reasonable length movie — simultaneously feels like the longest trial of Jared’s life and ends before he’s ready for it to, and they’re once again blinking into the night, a bit cooler now than it was last time, the parking lot a lot more empty. 

Jared still doesn’t want to go home, but it’s not like there’s another movie on, and while his mom was cool with him sticking around for one more when he texted her, she would definitely not be cool with him pushing any further past his curfew. Basically nothing’s open anyway, except for like, maybe a twenty-four hour McDonalds. Well, that and bars Jared isn’t old enough to legally enter for almost another year, and while his size would probably keep him from getting carded, he’s never tried, and he’s not starting now.

“Well,” Marcus says, then, “I’ll drive you home?”

He doesn’t know if he’s imagining that Marcus is going slower than usual as he drives Jared home, like he’s trying to avoid the night ending too. Is this what Jared’s come to? He sees Marcus actually driving the speed limit and imagines secret motives that just so happen to reflect his own? Pathetic, Jared. 

Marcus doesn’t drive fast enough on the surface streets to whip his hair around or anything, but with the sun long since down, Jared’s kind of chilly now, finds himself rubbing his arms as he watches the streetlights slide close then away. Marcus is saying something about the movie, but Jared’s only half listening, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t even know if he needs to say anything, so tangled up in his own head it’s hard to surface. 

Except everything in him that hasn’t gone completely introspective can’t stop paying attention to the dumbest things: a nick on Marcus’ jaw where he probably cut himself shaving, the shift of tendons in his arm as he makes a right turn, the way the fabric of his shorts is tight over thighs that are hockey massive.

Jared looks back over at the street lights, feeling like a perv. If this is what crushes are like — like, real crushes, not staring at the back of the head of a guy in his math class he’s never exchanged a word with or making sure he’s seen every movie and TV show Sebastian Stan has ever been in — Jared does not want one. No thank you.

“You good?” Marcus asks, and Jared realises he’s been either silently staring at the scenery, or silently staring at Marcus, and that’s got to be kind of freaky. 

“Just tired,” Jared says. “Kind of late, you know?”

Does this make him sound super immature? It’s not even two in the morning, and yes, Jared is usually fast asleep by now, but he doesn’t have to _tell_ Marcus that. 

But Marcus just says, “I feel you,” effortless, with this head bob that’s kind of lame but also like, not, and Jared needs to just — be home and stop being like this. Thankfully, they’re almost there. But that is also simultaneously awful. His brain’s going so hard in two different directions he’s amazed it hasn’t broken.

“So, uh,” Marcus says, after he’s pulled over in front of Jared’s house. “What’re you doing tomorrow? Or like. I guess it’s today, now?”

“Nothing?” Jared says, and it comes out like a question. “I mean. I’m not doing anything. Why, planning on working through every movie in the theatre?”

“You want to get lunch?” Marcus asks. “We can do a movie too, if you want. Or like, it’s Sunday, so brunch basically goes on forever, so we could — you want to do brunch? I’ll buy, of course. Like, if you’re interested.”

Jared wants to say yes. Jared, really, really wants to say yes, which kind of makes him wonder why Marcus is asking. Like Jared knows why _he_ wants to say yes, but if you don’t have a stupid ass crush on someone, do you really want to spend three straight days with them, especially when you already see them every week day? Jared’s got buds, school and Hitmen and the like, but fuck knows he would need a break after hanging out with them that long. So either Marcus is just way more cool with spending a ton of time with his friends — are they friends, is that what this is supposed to be, or is it that Marcus is asking for the exact same reason that Jared —

“Was this a date?” Jared blurts out. 

He can see the exact second Marcus’ face shuts down, and…fuck. Now that he’s basically ruined everything, he needs to shut up and get out of the car. 

Get out of the car, Jared.

“I’m not like accusing you of anything,” Jared says instead. “I mean, not that it’d be an accusation if it was, I guess I mean assuming, I don't want to assume, just — was it?” 

He hadn’t realised how expressive Marcus’ face was until it went flat. 

“I’m getting out of the car,” Jared says, reaching for the door handle. “I’m sorry, please don’t—”

“Did you want it to be?” Marcus asks.

“What?” Jared asks.

“Did you want it to be a date?” Marcus asks.

“I—” Jared says, and doesn’t know what to say then, what Marcus wants to hear.

Maybe it’s a trick question. Jared says yes and Marcus laughs in his face, or worse, punches him in the face for daring to think that he could be into dudes. That isn’t even a paranoid thing to think, when Marcus has punched people before. Fuck, for all Jared knows it wasn’t about the Oilers fan being an Oilers fan at all. Maybe the Oilers fan hit on him. Not that Jared’s hit on him, technically, but Jared…kind of wants to, so.

He doesn’t say anything, can’t get a word past his teeth, but something in his face must give away the answer as easy as Marcus’ face is hiding everything right now, because Marcus leans forward, and before Jared can flinch in the anticipation of impact, Marcus’ mouth is pressing against his.

And — oh. This is — this is way better than getting punched in the face.

Marcus starts to pull back, and Jared realises he’s basically frozen up, that his first kiss is more something that’s happening to him than something he’s participating in, and fuck that.

Jared fists his hand in Marcus’ polo, buttons digging into his fingers, dull sensation compared to Marcus’ lips, slack for a second, like Jared took him by surprise, then hard against his, a flash of teeth and his tongue sliding into Jared’s mouth when Jared exhales all in a rush, hand curling around the back of Jared’s neck, his fingers five hot points of contact Jared wants to shudder beneath, and _this_ is participation, Jared probably obviously inexperienced, not completely positive whether it’s good but _fuck_ , it’s good for him, and Marcus makes a sound into his mouth like maybe that’s mutual, fingers tightening, and it’s not just good, it’s fucking great, but Jared wants more, wants to climb over the console and crawl into his fucking _lap_ and — 

“Fuck,” Marcus says, jerking back so hard his shirt slips right out of Jared’s fingers, buttons stinging his skin, and before Jared can ask, “We’re in a fucking convertible.”

Right. Literally anyone still awake could look out their window and see them making out right now, up to and including Jared’s parents, who may not actually be asleep yet. Fuck.

Jared finds himself laughing. It’s somewhere halfway between giddy and hysterical, and all mortifying.

Marcus laughs too after a second, and Jared hopes that’s because it’s contagious and not because Jared’s laugh is funny to him. He’s almost about to ask before Marcus presses his forehead against Jared’s, and then he forgets what he was about to say.

“It was a date,” Marcus says. “If you want it to be.”

“Okay,” Jared says. “Okay, yeah. Yes. Date. Okay.”

“Brunch?” Marcus asks. “Like. Also as a date.”

“Yeah,” Jared says, kind of dazed. Marcus’ mouth is very close. ‘Convertible’ he reminds himself, and then ‘brunch’. “Brunch sounds — brunch is good. I like brunch.”

“Me too,” Marcus says. He’s grinning, and Jared can’t believe he ever thought his grin was anything but stupidly attractive.

“See you tomorrow, Jared,” Marcus says, pulling away, and Jared wants him back, but he should probably get out of the car. Curfew. Sleep. All those things.

“See you today, Marcus,” Jared says.

“Bryce,” Marcus — Bryce says.

“Bryce,” Jared agrees. 

Bryce doesn’t pull away until after he gets inside, and he really hopes he didn’t see Jared try his key three times before finally getting the front door unlocked.

There aren’t any lights on in the house, but Jared tiptoes upstairs anyway, because if he gets ambushed by a parent right now, there is no way he’s going to be able to hide what’s got to be a ridiculously huge grin tugging at his mouth, and he’s pretty sure that’d prompt some questions he does not want to answer right now.

Once he makes it to his room he flops on his bed — and fuck, he has got to stop doing that, this bed cannot handle 175 pounds of flopping — and turns his grin on the ceiling.

He considers texting Raf to tell him it was a date, but he’s pretty sure even Raf isn’t too nice to say ‘I told you so’, and honestly he just wants to like. Hold onto it right now. Just have it be something he knows. Well, him and Marcus.

Bryce.

It’s a stupid name, but Jared can’t stop smiling, thinking it.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, wondering if Raf just psychically figured it out without Jared saying a word. It seems possible. Jared doesn’t want to underestimate the guy.

_c u tmrw :)_ is the text, and just like Bryce’s name, his textspeak is objectively awful, but somehow that’s not dimming Jared’s smile at all.

_See you today_ , Jared texts back, then adds him in his phone, putting it beside his head after he changes into PJs so he’ll hear if it buzzes again.

That inevitably leads to him waking up at six in the morning with the corner digging into his cheek, but when he realises why his phone’s there, he’s smiling all over again, even though his face hurts now.

God, he’s so fucked here.

He can’t even bring himself to mind.


End file.
